


Injustice: Enemies No Longer?

by MaskoftheRay



Series: Stars Innumerable and Hearts Incandescent [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bittersweet, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce and Clark are best friends... and so is Diana, Bruce is sad, Clark and Bruce have a lot of things to discuss, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Bruce Wayne, Feels, Friends to Enemies (Kal El & Bruce), Friendship, Gen, Honesty, Loneliness, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Injuries, Minor spoilers for the game?, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash (kind of), Psychological Trauma, TW: Mental Health, TW: Shouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 04:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20334217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: What if the Batman of theInjusticeuniverse accidentally got transported tothisuniverse for a bit? After everything that happened in his own world—dealing withtaking downSuperman(his ex-best friend)— he’s really messed up, and very unhappy about his situation. After all, who wouldn’t be? Added complication: what if the first person that Batman sees when he’s transported here isClark?“In the time since the fall of the Regime, the world had slowly begun its return to normal; Batman and his team took the place of Superman and his goons (only, they didn’tmurderanyone, and there was no planetary dictatorship in place, not any longer). The Earth kept spinning. Bruce kept breathing. Cities kept rebuilding. And all that was left of the One Earth government were torn-down monuments, stories, scars, memories, andfragments. Like Superman. LikeBruce.Clark Kent— as far as Bruce was concerned— haddied, and he hadn’t had a best friend since.”





	Injustice: Enemies No Longer?

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I’m just not done with this universe/concept yet! So I made it a series. While this one (loosely) follows the first, it can be read as a stand-alone piece. This time I wanted to explore what would happen if the _Injustice_ universe Bruce got sent over here. Note: as it is _Injustice_-verse Bruce who gets sent over, this fic is a bit darker than the previous one. Also, there may be spoilers present. You’ve been warned. 
> 
> Timeline info: this takes place a few years after events of IJ, but before some of the *major* events in IJ 2 (if you know, you know). Of course, it’s AU, so do with that knowledge what you will. Some IJ comic stuff included, but mostly based off video games. As earlier, elements of my AU borrowed from the _Injustice_ universe/video game, and from BTAS. I do not own these characters or DC Comics.

**Three years post-war: **

It had been 36 months since the fall of the Regime. _And good riddance_, Bruce mused sourly, as he stared out at Gotham’s early-morning cityscape. The anniversary was tonight, and he would be expected to attend the festivities— not that he wanted to. He’d lost too much to really (ever) feel like celebrating.

Some days, it felt like it had been much less than 36 months. Bruce _still_ dreamt of the old days, of friends who’d died, and those who **hadn’t**. That didn’t help, he supposed. But it was hard, so incredibly _hard_, to believe that it had really only been 156 weeks since the world as he knew it had ended. Harder still to deal with the knowledge that it had been 1,095 days since Bruce lost his best friend. He did the calculations mentally: _it had been 26,280 hours since the last time he smiled at Clark **and meant it**. _

He _missed_ Clark Kent— and he always would. None of Superman’s stunning actions had been able to change that. Neither had Kal El’s heinous dictatorship altered Bruce’s nostalgic fondness for his former best friend. Nothing, Bruce suspected, was capable of _that_. It was a shame, really, then, that he’d had to ignore this. But _the world_ was worth the sacrifice. It **had **to be.

In the time since the fall of the Regime, the world had slowly begun its return to normal; Batman and his team took the place of Superman and his goons (only, they didn’t _murder_ anyone, and there was no planetary dictatorship in place, not any longer). The Earth kept spinning. Bruce kept breathing. Cities kept rebuilding. And all that was left of the One Earth government were torn-down monuments, stories, scars, memories, and _fragments_. Like Superman. Like **Bruce**.

Clark Kent— as far as Bruce was concerned— had _died_, and he hadn’t had a best friend since.

Bruce was _busy _now, perhaps more than he’d ever been before, with watching over the world. This was, obviously, no small feat. Especially since those who once might’ve helped with the task were either **dead**, missing, on the run, or in prison. Bruce was busy, and sidetracked a lot of the time, by what had once been. So he forgave himself for the moment of sheer _panic _and incomprehension he felt when he materialized aboard _the Watchtower_.

** ~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

**Now: **

One moment he was in his office at Wayne Enterprises, and the next Bruce found himself standing, shakenly, _somewhere else_. He blinked, uncomprehending of his surroundings for a half-second. This unwillingness to believe his eyes was understandable. It was understandable because it was _impossible _that Bruce was really where his eyes were telling him he was. Or it should have been, anyway.

Since the fall of the Regime, Bruce had only come here a handful of times. First to catalogue the Watchtower’s resources, then to decide if he could (or even _should_) salvage it. Ultimately, he had decided against it— best to let the past lie, and start over fresh— and had sealed off the tower and implemented security systems. But Bruce had _never_ come up to the tower alone, and hadn’t stayed long when he had (too many memories) because it was still dangerous— anything filled with Regime technology was. So to now find himself in the space fortress was… disconcerting. Bruce swallowed nervously.

He was _nervous_ because he now realized where he was, and what that probably meant: nothing good. Batman had always been pragmatic, always been prepared. Even _before _things went… **wrong**, he had planned for Superman to go bad (Bruce had just _never _expected it to actually happen). So to say that he was uncomfortable was an understatement _in the extreme_. Bruce felt the stirrings of panic, but suppressed them. Though, unfortunately, he wasn’t as successful with the stream of thoughts in his head:_ He wasn’t in the suit. **He wasn’t. In. The. Suit**, and he was facing an unknown threat, without the team’s backup_.

Bruce felt the buzz of adrenaline, and his pulse raced.

He recognized that he was feeling fear. Bruce wasn’t _ashamed _of this, and never had been (fear was, after all, a useful devise for keeping oneself alive). But he _had_ trained to work past it. So he acknowledged his rapid breathing, twitchy hands, the hollow feeling in his chest, and tried to let them go. _It was natural to feel fear_, he reminded himself, especially since he was _here_ (mostly) unprepared.

But Bruce could not let it stop him (just as he hadn’t let his friendship with Clark stop him from deposing Superman when necessary). He couldn’t let fear stop him now because, before he could _get off _the Watchtower, Bruce would **have to** go to the command center. If someone had bypassed his security system, Bruce had to know. Even if it was just a bug, _he had to **know**_.

This meant he possibly had to go through any number of angry, violent, and resentful people. People who probably knew that Bruce Wayne was _Batman_, thanks to <strike>Clark</strike> **Kal**. But Bruce was not one to shy away from what needed to be done, not even when it came at a (steep) cost. Even when his spine was aching (psychosomatic, Bruce knew), skin crawling, and fingers twitching. Bruce allowed himself a moment to process this. He looked around the room, stepped off the teleporter, and took a steadying breath. Then he walked out the door and into the hall.

Curiously, there didn’t appear to be a single other soul aboard. Whether this was _true_ or not, Bruce didn’t know. Either way, it made the already-present tension inside him jackknife into something sharper and more cutting. That the only sounds were Bruce’s staccato footsteps echoing mournfully off the tower’s metal corridors— creating a sort of hushed, _anticipatory _atmosphere— did not help.

Bruce quickened his pace.

Finally, he reached the automatic sliding doors of the command center. As he approached, they slid open with the barest hiss. Bruce cautiously took a half-step inside, coiled for action— even if he didn’t stand much of a chance, unprotected as he was, Bruce _would not _go down without a fight.

Despite all of his pragmatism (Bruce half-expected to find a _Darkseid_-level threat behind that door), he was **not**, in actuality, at all prepared for who it really was.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

Superman stood behind the Watchtower’s control panels.

Upon seeing him, Bruce’s mind went _blank_, and he found himself rooted to the floor. This lasted for a handful of seconds. And while he stood there, like a **goddamned idiot**, Bruce thought: _now would be a good opportunity for Superman to finally kill me_. Perhaps by ripping his heart out (like he’d done to the Joker, all those years ago), or by twisting his neck, or by any one of the innumerable ways that Superman had to kill him. But as Bruce stood there, second of inaction followed by second of inaction, he did _not_ die.

At least not _yet_.

After a few more seconds of stupidity, Bruce forced himself to move— though he only reached for the secret button on his wristwatch, and shuffled forward enough for the door to close. As he did so, Bruce marveled at the fact that he was _still alive_. Absently, he also noted that <strike>Clark</strike> Superman seemed to be unaware of (or _ignoring_) his presence.

Clark surely had a plan ready, if he weren’t getting Bruce out of the way **right goddamned now**. After all that had happened between them, Bruce held no pretenses that _sentimentality _would stay <strike>Clark’s</strike> Kal’s hand. Because, apparently,_ Clark was out of prison_. He was out of prison, and here on the Watchtower instead. And now, he was (at last) **looking **at Bruce. But it turned out to be nothing more than a glance, a brief flicker of the eyes really, and he said nothing.

After the moment passed, Clark went back to working on whatever he’d been doing before. Bruce swallowed down his dread. The silence was suffocating, and he felt ready to break in two from the tension. Since Superman did not seem intent on _murdering_ him straightaway for some reason, all of Bruce’s plans were (momentarily) thrown into disarray. In fact, as Bruce was staring in utter confusion at his best friend-turned-enemy, he saw that Clark was now _smiling_. At Bruce. Though the expression was also slightly puzzled.

“Bruce? I didn’t realize you were going to be up here for the tests. _How did_ you even get up here by the way— I didn’t hear the jet’s engines,” Superman enquired.

It was then that Bruce noticed Superman’s uniform. It was different than the one he’d worn when he had been in charge of the One Earth government. In fact, it looked almost _exactly_ like his original, but it **couldn’t** be— Bruce had stored _that_ uniform away in the cave, for safe keeping (wouldn’t do to have it floating around, giving anyone _ideas_)— and he _would have _known if there had been a break-in at the cave… but then, _he_ **_hadn’t_**_ known there had been a break-out at the prison_. Bruce’s heart hammered in his chest, and at this, Kal El cocked his head, looking more puzzled.

“Bruce?” he asked, concerned.

Bruce felt a wave of dread crash over his mind, and found himself _frozen there _again in confusion, just for a second. _What was going on here? Why wasn’t Clark trying to **kill** him? Oh god, what was he working on up here— and **how long** had he been out of prison? _

Swallowing these (pressing) concerns, Bruce forced himself to reach into the small, secret compartment of the watch, withdraw the shard of kryptonite he kept there (the one he _always _kept there, now), and stride up to Clark. As he approached, Clark paled (maybe it was because of Bruce’s grim expression, or maybe it was just because of the kryptonite) and Bruce realized that the other man was _scanning _him.

“You’re not—” Clark started to say, before Bruce, and his kryptonite, were too close for Superman to do anything. He felt disconcerted at how _strangely _Superman was acting (almost like his old, _normal _self), but Bruce couldn’t let it throw him. He reached out to tug Superman closer—

Bruce was suddenly slammed against the wall.

Superman coughed, and stumbled on his feet. But he still kept a firm hold on Bruce. He was weakened from the kryptonite, but still _not weak enough_. Not weak enough, if he was fighting Bruce, not weak enough if he were able to escape prison. Though, perhaps he _had _been weakened (mentally) by his stay there, _because he hadn’t tried to **kill **Bruce yet_. “I don’t… know what’s going on— who you are— but I’m going… to stop you,” Clark panted.

Bruce scowled, and punched Superman in the face with his kryptonite-holding fist. It hurt, but it was almost a _good _kind of hurt— he had _never_ regretted what he’d done to Superman to save the world, but Bruce _had _regretted ever having to hurt Clark (_and he always would_). “The _fuck _you don’t, Kal. I don’t know how the _hell_ you got out of prison, **but I promise** **you**, that’s where you’re going again soon,” Bruce growled. He punched Superman again, and again, and _again_, and **again**.

Then everything went black.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

He woke up tied to a chair with Superman and Wonder Woman staring at him, from across the room. _Speaking of rooms…_ Bruce recognized that he was in the conference room, of all places. From his momentary appraisal, the space appeared to be unchanged from how he remembered it (before the Regime took over). _They had even reinstalled the_ _table_, Bruce thought giddily. A burst of hysterical laughter bubbled up, and nearly escaped his lips. _Or maybe not, considering that there were no **lasered gouges** in it_, he amended soberly.

The swoosh of the door diverted his attention. Clark and Diana turned to it, and Bruce’s head snapped up. His stomach lurched. Bruce blinked. He stared at the Batman who’d just entered the room. This Batman wore a suit _very _similar to Bruce’s own, with a few subtle differences. As Bruce watched— his gaze almost magnetically drawn to the mysterious **imposter**— Batman crossed the space until he stood next to Diana and Clark. His gloved hands came up to the cowl, and Bruce tensed reflexively. Then he was gazing at an (almost) carbon-copy of his own face.

At this, the hysteria finally won. Bruce burst out laughing.

Even with everyone’s (<strike>Superman’s</strike> <strike>Kal’s</strike> Clark’s) attention rapidly drawn to him, Bruce found that he didn’t care. This was too much. “That… that’s your _plan_?” he asked, astounded. “Kill off the original, sub in a clone, and pray that they won’t notice? Regain power— this time with Batman’s approval. Oh, _Kal_. I must admit that you’ve surprised me with this one.” Bruce’s amusement faded, and he sighed.

A resounding silence was the only response to his outburst.

The clone was looking at him curiously, and Bruce found himself staring back. _They’d certainly done a good job— however they’d done it_, he mused, _it might even cause enough confusion for Superman to gain the upper hand. _He felt a twang of bitterness, at that. “That’s what you think?” asked the clone. His baritone voice was sharp, and slightly rumbly. Just like Bruce’s.

The question broke his reverie (_curious, though, that they had deemed it necessary to give his clone intelligence, or a veneer of it_) and Bruce blinked. He saw, abruptly, what he’d missed earlier: Clark and Diana were watching him hesitantly. But they also looked to the other Bruce… like- like _he _was in charge. _This didn’t make sense_.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Am I **wrong**?” he challenged, meeting Clark’s reluctant gaze.

Superman opened his mouth, but the other Bruce stepped forward, sending Clark a quelling look. Surprisingly, his head wasn’t blasted off for it. Bruce frowned. Other-Bruce turned his eerily familiar blue gaze to Bruce, and _looked _at him for a moment. Calmly, he stated: “The Joker murdered Lois Lane, and, subsequently, Metropolis. Your world is now run by the One Earth regime, with Superman acting as its dictator. You, Bruce Wayne, are a founding member of the Insurgency, and Cl— _Kal’s_ enemy. But, given that you believe me to be a clone, some of my information is… **incorrect**. Am I right?”

Bruce, in spite of himself, replied automatically: “_Was_. Superman was _dictator perpetuo._ Until I— _we_— stopped him. That was three years ago, and he’s in prison now.” His gaze slid accusingly to Clark, at this last bit.

Clark was still wearing that damned uniform, and looking a good deal more sheepish than he ought to. He had not, to Bruce’s knowledge, looked like that in _a long_ time. It was, somehow, quite irritating. Silence, once again, permeated the room.

Finally, Other-Bruce cleared his throat. Bruce looked at him. “Do you still believe Diana’s lasso to be a valid method of ascertaining the truth?” he asked. Bruce nodded without hesitation— even if Wonder Woman herself no longer stood for _truth_ and _justice_, her lasso (magic as it was) remained unaffected in its power.

Other-Bruce gestured to Diana. She stepped forward and wrapped Clark’s arm in the golden, glowing metal-rope. Bruce tensed. “Who are you?” she asked simply.

Clark replied, “I am Clark Joseph Kent, Kal El, and Superman. I am not, and never have been, the ruler of the Regime, or dictator of the One Earth government.” His gaze, as he spoke, rested heavily on Bruce. Bruce swallowed, heart racing. _It was too good to be true_. He knew this, and yet… _Yet, it was **so **tempting_.

But then the clone stepped forward, and he was distracted from his thoughts. Batman nodded to Diana. She unwrapped Clark, and **bound him_. _**Then Other-Bruce said, calmly, “We are not on your Earth. There is no Regime. There is no One Earth government. No Insurgency. This is another dimension, and you, somehow, have been brought here.”

Through the surprise, Bruce reflected melancholically: _Of course_. _Only_ _in another dimension could Clark and I still be **friends**_.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

Eventually, Bruce was released. Wonder Woman and Superman departed shortly thereafter.

Bruce and Bruce— what a _strange _statement that was— walked through the still-empty hall. Bruce found it to be an only slightly-less-disconcerting experience than before. They were still walking (to where, he didn’t know) when Bruce was struck by a thought. He stopped. Batman stopped as well.

“How did you know?” he asked simply. But he felt tenser, as he waited for a response. _Clark hadn’t been lying, as that was **impossible** with the lasso, but… _stranger things had been known to happen. At this point, Bruce had seen enough things that he’d once believed were impossible to have a high tolerance for the weird.

As there was no one else present, Batman must have felt it acceptable to pause. Or maybe he had had a moment of empathy for his counterpart. He gave Bruce a long, thoughtful look. But his mood was otherwise indecipherable.

Finally, he answered, “About five years ago, what happened to you occurred with me. It must have been when the Regime was still strong— I was transported to your dimension and fell into Kal’s hands. For three months.” Other-Bruce was looking at him. Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. He swallowed, feeling disturbed.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said, guiltily, “I should have _never _let it happen. I’m—”

Batman held up his gloved hand. “Stop. I… _can hardly imagine_ the events that led to our dimensions diverging so greatly, but I do know **this**: he was your best friend. He was Superman. He was _Clark_, and **nobody** expected that outcome. Not from him. Don’t beat yourself up too badly.” With that, he turned around, cape flouncing behind him. Bruce followed. After another moment of silence, Other-Bruce added, “Besides. You still stopped him, in the end.”

_Yes, I suppose I did_, Bruce mused sourly.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

The longer they walked, the more anxious he felt. No matter that Batman was in front of him. No matter that this wasn’t his world (_actually_, that did matter; who knew what could be happening, back home?), no matter that Clark- **Kal** was still his friend here. Walking through the Watchtower’s halls still felt like a nightmare-version of a trip down memory lane. So Bruce wasn’t exactly paying complete attention to their surroundings.

When Batman stopped in front of him, Bruce almost ran into him. But he caught himself at the last moment, and blinked. Other-Bruce was looking at him, almost as if he knew what was going through Bruce’s mind— _and wasn’t it a good thing that the Regime had never thought to clone him_, he thought. “Where are we?” Bruce asked. He had a funny suspicion that he wouldn’t like the answer.

Other-Bruce replied, as he typed in a security code, “My quarters. As we weren’t exactly… _prepared _for inter-dimensional visitors, you’ll have to stay here. Is that a problem?” The door swished open and Batman threw a mildly-concerned gaze over his shoulder. Bruce swallowed his dread, and his racing heart, and the sense of his skin prickling in alarm. _They wanted him to **stay** up here. Of course they did_.

“No. That will be fine,” he lied. It would only be a little like staying in a haunted house. Other-Bruce, if he saw through him, chose not to comment. This half-irritated, half-relieved Bruce.

Batman stepped into the room. Bruce followed. The door shut smoothly behind them. He took a moment to look around, fascinated by the slight differences, even with the stark décor, between the memories of his own league quarters and Other-Bruce’s. Surprisingly, Batman allowed him. But Bruce focused himself, after a moment, anyway. Surely Batman had things to do, and escorting his double must not rank high on that list. As he looked up, Bruce saw that Batman’s gaze was fixed on him. It was odd, and unpleasant. Bruce had a momentary sense of what it must be like to be a criminal.

“Really, if this is going to be a problem for you, I’d understand—”

“It won’t be,” Bruce assured coolly. He’d dealt with _worse_. A short stay in this funhouse of horrors was nothing. Other-Bruce must have heard the firmness of his tone, because he dropped the subject.

“Clark will want to talk to you,” Batman said softly. Bruce felt a pang run through him. His silence on the subject must have spoken volumes. Other-Bruce continued, “When I first got back, do you know what I did? I attacked him. He was the first person I saw, and I didn’t understand that I was _back_. If you want me to keep him away, I will.”

Bruce scowled. “I won’t attack your friend. And you don’t have to protect _me_, Batman.” Despite his mood, Bruce chuckled at the bizarreness of the situation. Other-Bruce chuckled too. Then he pulled the cowl up.

“No. I’m sure I don’t,” he replied drily, as he walked to the door. “But I thought I’d offer anyway.” Batman disappeared as the door closed. Bruce absently walked to the desk, and ran a hand over it. He saw one framed photo, of Dick, and sank into the chair, with an ache in his heart.

_It seemed even here he could not escape <strike>anything</strike> everything_.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

Clark couldn’t believe his luck. _Twice_, Bruce had been transported from hell— _and that’s what that other dimension surely was_, he thought firmly— and it was twice now that Superman had been the one to receive him. What incredibly **bad **luck, for both of them. He winced slightly as he began pacing again.

By the time he’d realized that that Bruce wasn’t _his_ Bruce, the other man had already retrieved the kryptonite and attacked him. And while Clark could probably still have stopped him (the amount of kryptonite was small, so pathetically **small**) he also _might not have_. So he’d been grateful when Diana had come into the room and subdued Bruce with an Amazonian nerve pinch.

And then, when Other-Bruce had woken up, Clark had had _questions_, of course.

It had all started to make a terrible sort of sense when Bruce began speaking. _Of all the dimensions for someone to accidentally get transported from, it had to be **that one**, again. _Clark sighed, and rubbed absently at his cape. They— he, and Diana— were waiting for Bruce to return. Wisely, it had been decided that Bruce would be the one to escort… well, _himself_, around until further notice.

The door slid open, and Clark looked up. There was Bruce, scowl (and cowl) in place. Batman nodded at Clark and Diana in greeting. He swept forward, and sank into a seat at the conference table. Superman and Wonder Woman followed suit. Tense silence covered the room for a moment. Then, sighing, Bruce reached up and removed the cowl. He fixed Clark and Diana with a firm look. “You absolutely _cannot _go barging in there to bother him,” Bruce said.

Diana looked concerned, and Clark opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t going to go _barging in _anywhere, but Bruce interrupted: “_Clark_. You remember how I was… after. He’s been through a lot worse. From my understanding, he _took you down_ and won **a war** with very little help. While he’s not a threat now, that Batman is still not to be trifled with. _Do you understand?_” Bruce peered at him intently. Clark nodded. But for all the implicit warning it was meant to be, Clark could only think of how oddly _protective _Bruce seemed to be of the other Batman. 

His resolve strengthened.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

Nobody had been by in a few hours, and Batman had not locked the door when he’d left. So Bruce took this as an _unspoken suggestion _that he did not necessarily have to stay in Batman’s quarters. He left the room, glad to escape the eerie feeling it gave him, and wandered aimlessly around for a while; whatever test was supposed to be occurring kept the halls of the tower empty. For once, Bruce was grateful of the solitude here.

He’d meandered through the empty corridors, reminiscing. Strangely, he hadn’t done that any of the times he’d been aboard _his _Watchtower. Bruce supposed that it was because each of those times he’d had other concerns to consider. Also, he was a _coward_, and perhaps, did not care to rehash the past. But now, presented with a ‘what-if’ scenario come-to-life, that was what he found himself doing.

Bruce looked around the tower, and into several unnervingly similar-yet-different rooms and thought about the past. Then he walked around some more, and thought about the present (in _his _world, at least). And then, somehow, without his conscious permission, he had ended up in the observatory. That was where he was now.

It was close to evening, and rather dark. But the incandescent stars looked the same as they always had, and the Earth hadn’t suddenly and drastically altered. It was reassuring. And the view was something that Bruce had _missed_, without ever having realized it before. _Perhaps the Watchtower could be opened up to scientists_, he pondered, _or students. Maybe then it could do some good_. Bruce stood, inches from the window, with his hands tucked behind his back, and stared out at the universe. This was how Clark, as predicted by Other-Bruce, found him.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

_“Clark will want to talk to you,”_ Bruce remembered the warning. Of course he would. His Clark, **before**, had been the same. Maybe it was the writer in him— even when they weren’t speaking, he had always wanted to resolve their conflicts with _words_. Bruce, really, hadn’t expected any different. Yet he still found himself wanting it to be so. Wishing for it to be possible for him to _avoid _conversation, with this man. It hurt too much already, and not a word had been spoken.

Bruce kept his back turned, despite the screaming of his instincts, the fluttering of his pulse, and looked out into the vast, sobering emptiness of space. Clark stepped beside him, and Bruce’s hands twitched. _God. He’d done this a million times with Clark. A million times— not any longer. There was no **Clark** to do it with, anymore. And besides, Bruce had no desire to stargaze, these days… _Clark shifted minutely, and Bruce caught the motion in his peripheral vision. He suddenly found himself frozen, heart in his throat.

Clark looked stricken. Bruce realized, distantly, that he’d taken a step back. “_Kal_,” he found himself saying, in an appeasing tone. Clark flinched. Bruce stopped, feeling chilled.

Superman ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and muttered, “This may have been easier if I hadn’t worn the suit.” Bruce’s heart lurched.

“**No**,” he blurted, unthinkingly. He pictured a Kansan farm boy, with a plaid shirt, worn blue jeans, muddy boots, and black glasses. He pictured him _smiling_. No, it most certainly would not have been **_easier_**. His mouth curled downward, and his heart ached. Bruce realized that Clark was staring at him. Tiredly, Bruce met his eyes. Clark offered a cautious, small smile. Bruce had to look away before he was blinded.

“Earlier… when I scanned you, in the command center— I saw… _your spine_—” Clark cut himself off with a horrified choking noise. Bruce tensed. Despite the awkwardness of the statement, he heard the underlying question: _‘was it **him**?’ _He swallowed. And felt the wave of the _unspoken _crash over him, and Clark, to fill the room. Bruce felt as if he were drowning. He felt, somehow, _older_.

“That was years ago,” he said quietly, watching his home planet spin beneath him, “and I’ve since recovered. I would appreciate you keeping this between us.” _‘Yes, it was **him**. Don’t tell Batman.’ _<strike>Superman</strike> <strike>Kal</strike> Clark nodded, and looked smaller for it. He was quiet.

All of a sudden, Bruce wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh at the _absurdity _of it. Hadn’t he always wished he could communicate in silence? Hadn’t Bruce always relished the quiet? Wanted his _implications _to be enough? Well. Here he was, right next to Clark Kent (a version of him, at least) and an ocean of silence was between them, filled with _unspoken things_.

He sighed. This time, Clark was the one to tense, beside him. “Don’t think about what could have happened,” Bruce told him. “It won’t do you any good. Your only path forward is acceptance of what has happened, and to put it behind you.” _Unlike me_. Bruce hoped that last part wasn’t communicated.

“Like you?” Clark asked bitingly. Bruce tensed. He was, abruptly, _furious_.

“No, Kal. _Not _like me! You know why— I TRIED that, alright? IT DIDN’T WORK. I’VE NEVER BEEN GOOD AT LETTING GO, AND— **HE **WRECKED EVERYTHING. I WAS _HAPPY _BEFORE, AND THEN YOU FUCKING LOST IT, AND I HAD TO MAKE THE CHOICE TO EITHER _KILL YOU_ OR PUT YOU IN **PRISON**, KAL! I HAD TO MAKE THAT DECISION, TO GO AFTER MY BEST FRIEND, AND I LOST NEARLY EVERYONE ELSE MAKING IT. DIANA, ARTHUR, BARRY, HAL, J’OHN. MY OWN SON!

AND IT’S BEEN THREE YEARS. THREE YEARS OF PUTTING SHIT BACK TOGETHER THAT **YOU** BROKE. I COULDN’T FORGET IT, ANY OF IT. BECAUSE _I_ WAS THE ONE THAT WAS LEFT. _I _WAS THE ONE WHO EVERYONE ELSE LOOKED TO, AFTER THAT— YOU ABDICATED THAT POSITION. _I _WAS THE ONE LEFT IN CHARGE. THE ONE WHO **HAD** TO MAKE SURE NOBODY ELSE **FORGOT**, EITHER. AND I REGRET EVERYDAY that I never told you to just… accept what had happened, and to _put it all behind you_. I regret that my first instinct wasn’t to pull you aside and say, ‘I’m _sorry_.’ I think, if I had, you might not have gone down that path. But I never told you. And now I never will…” Bruce trailed off, breathing hard.

He realized a few things, in that moment. He was leaning into Clark’s personal space, far too closely. He had been _shouting_ for the past few minutes, at this poor man, who was **not **Kal, but just his (unfortunate) counterpart. And Batman, and Diana, were standing silently in the doorway, where they had been for an unknown amount of time. Enough, probably, to hear _all _of it. _Shit_. Blindly, Bruce stepped past a too-still, stricken-looking Clark, and strode out of the room.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

“He **hates **me,” Clark insisted, looking beseechingly at Bruce.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and scowled. Oh, he had many things to be angry over, with this situation, but for now, his ire was mostly directed at his counterpart. “He does not **hate** you, Clark. He _loves _you,” Bruce grumbled. They were sitting in Clark’s quarters, on his bed, discussing the _situation _that had happened in the observatory. Diana was off somewhere else— probably talking to the other Batman. Bruce winced, as he recalled his counterpart’s earlier words. They would haunt him.

Clark looked curiously at Bruce. Bruce snorted. “Not like _that_. Or, at least, I don’t think he does. Superman and he were like brothers, Clark. You know me— Clark was probably the person he was closest to in the world. The person he _chose_ to trust. They were family. Losing that… I imagine it would have caused him a lot of duress,” he explained, swallowing. _He and I are very similar, in that_.

Clark smiled fondly at him, and pulled Bruce into a one-armed hug. Bruce allowed it, for a moment. Then he pushed Clark away. “Yes, but… I just- I wish there was _something _we could do,” Clark mused. Bruce sighed. Clark looked up at him, sheepishly.

“The best we can do is to get him home… and I suspect, actually, that you _have _done him some good. Since he snapped— _because_ he let himself… **lose it** that dramatically, then he must have really needed it. I can only imagine the stress that he’s under. Not that he should have, mind you. Not that you should have let him, either,” Bruce stated, half-to himself. _I can sympathize_, he thought_, with feeling like the world is on your shoulders. The pressure to be the steady, reliable one. The weight of perfection__. _Clark’s throat-clearing brought him back to the present. Bruce looked inquiringly at his friend.

“Is… is that how _you _feel?” Clark asked hesitantly.

“Yes. But I usually do a better job of not _acting_ on it,” Bruce answered, automatically. From the concerned tilt of Clark’s eyebrows, Bruce gathered that, once again, he had said too much.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

Diana found him later.

Bruce had calmed down significantly, in the hours since his meltdown. He actually felt quite _bad _for yelling at Clark like that. But what did it matter, in the long run? In a few days, or weeks, he would be back in his own dimension, with a Clark who did not _care _how much Bruce yelled. How much he screamed at him. In a short period of time, Bruce would be back in a world with a Clark who did not _care_. He sighed.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” Bruce commented.

Diana hummed in agreement. It was slightly easier, with her, to ignore what his instincts were telling him. Easier, but not by much (she had once been a dear friend too). “Perhaps not. But I think he will understand,” she said ‘_when you apologize to him.’_ Bruce nodded. They were silent for a bit longer, before Diana asked, “Are you hungry? I believe Clark has fetched food for all of us.” Bruce nodded. She stood, offering him a hand. Bruce accepted, and was gently tugged to his feet.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Diana smiled, and gave their still-connected hands a little squeeze. _I missed this_, Bruce thought, _but it’s not **mine**_. Gently, he let Diana’s hand go. Unbeknown to Bruce, this gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Diana frowned softly.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

When Diana and Bruce arrived in the kitchen, they saw that Clark had gotten them pizza. Bruce’s stomach rumbled; it had been _hours _since he’d last eaten, and the day had been… eventful. “Hawaiian,” Clark said, “it’s Bruce’s favorite, and I figured even if it’s nasty, it would be worth it…” _For you to be a little bit less sad_, Bruce added mentally. He nodded, about to say something, but Other-Bruce interrupted.

“I’m sorry that you don’t like Hawaiian pizza, Clark, but that doesn’t mean that you have to attack people who _do_,” he said stiffly. Clark baulked.

“It’s _gross_, Bruce— worse than BBQ chicken, even! Who likes pineapple on their pizza, anyway? For someone so logical, I can’t understand how you don’t get that,” Clark said seriously. Other-Bruce’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to reply. Diana shared an amused look with him while the other two men continued arguing. After a bit longer, she cleared her throat.

“Friends,” she said patiently, “I think this is an argument for another night. I, personally, am quite hungry and would like to eat.” With that, the argument devolved into nothing more than heated glares and muttered words. But Clark, Bruce observed, still gave his counterpart all his pineapple. And Other-Bruce ate it.

He smiled, through the ache.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

Surprisingly, it only took two days for the issue to be resolved. Perhaps this was because Batman had faced something similar before. Or perhaps it was because they both stayed up all night in the labs working towards a solution. Maybe it was just Bruce’s anxiety to be home (to make sure everything was still _okay_) that made the time spent working fly by. Either way, after two days, they had a solution. Bruce was going home.

He was happy, but it was a bittersweet happiness, at best. He would miss this funny, cheerful Diana. Bruce would miss this kind, empathetic Clark _more_. It was because of their impending loss that Bruce dreaded (deep down) his return home. But, as so many other things, it had to be done. So Bruce would do it, and bear the discomfort silently. Or perhaps not, given the looks Other-Bruce was giving him. It felt nice, to be understood by someone. Even if it were only his own counterpart.

They waited one more day while Batman ran some final tests on the device. Now that he, Diana, and Clark had come to an_ understanding_, Bruce found it rather pleasant to spend time with them. If he let himself, Bruce could almost pretend these were the old days, and the people he was with were still his friends. He did not allow himself to believe that. _It would do him no good, once he was home._ Speaking of home, Bruce really hoped that nothing dramatic had happened while he’d been away. That would be unfortunate.

Finally, around mid-day, Other-Bruce emerged from the labs. “It’s ready,” he said simply.

Bruce nodded, standing. “Thank you,” he said. _For this. For understanding. _He did not say, _‘Take care of them’_ because, he found, that felt unnecessary. Batman nodded. Though he said nothing, his understanding was clear. He met Bruce’s eyes. _‘I will,’_ his gaze said. Bruce suddenly felt a little better about leaving.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

Bruce paused, just outside the doorway that led to the teleporters. Other-Bruce paused too. “I won’t be sorry to see you go,” he said honestly. His statement was met with silence. But not anger, or upset. Perhaps his feelings were mirrored, then. Bruce waited.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” his counterpart admitted, “not after how I treated your friend.” _‘Your friend,’ _Bruce noted, _not ‘Clark_.’ _Interesting_. He nodded.

“I still wish you the best, and luck in helping your world… cope, of course,” Bruce amended stiffly. _God knows I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes_. When he looked up, he saw that Other-Bruce’s gaze held amusement, and something darker.

Then the other man smiled. “Thanks. I could use it,” he said. Both men looked at each other, with perfect understanding, and a perfect sense of not knowing what to say next. Other-Bruce, finally, let out a breath. It could have almost been called a sigh. Bruce felt inclined to be charitable, and categorized it as an exhale. “Could I… speak to Clark, before I go?” Other-Bruce asked.

Bruce hesitated, for reasons he was unsure of. But, given what he knew of the other man’s world, this really would be saying _goodbye_ _forever_ to his best friend, for his counterpart. Bruce, no matter _what_ he felt towards the other him, could not deny that request. “Sure. I’ll go get him,” Bruce said. He left his counterpart to his thoughts.

**~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~\\\\\~-~-~**

Bruce entered the teleporting room, and let out a breath. _This was harder than expected_. Or, perhaps not. He waited tensely for Clark’s arrival.

Finally, Clark arrived. Bruce looked up, and gave him a sharp nod. Clark smiled back. “Before I go, I just wanted to say: I’m sorry,” Bruce blurted. Clark flinched. Bruce suddenly recalled his earlier words: _“I regret that my first instinct wasn’t to pull you aside and say, ‘I’m sorry.’ I think, if I had, you might not have gone down that path. But I never told you. And now I never will.” _He amended: “I’m sorry for my actions… for…” he made a vague hand gesture. _I’m sorry for **everything**_. “For how I treated you.” Clark nodded.

“I… understand,” he said. “And I forgive you.”

Bruce nodded, grateful. “Good. I didn’t want to leave anything unsaid between us” _since you’ll never see me again_. There was a pause. Bruce waited.

Clark sighed. “I know it wasn’t _me_, but I want to apologize for him anyway. And for any hurt I caused you— it’s not the same, I understand, but… still,” he finished awkwardly.

Bruce felt oddly touched. He smiled. “Thank you, anyhow.”

Clark nodded, stepping back. “Well, I better get to the command center. To tell them you’re ready.” Though it hadn’t been entirely pleasant, Clark found that he was _glad _of the visit— it had taught him some things about _his _Bat, if nothing else. So he meant it, when he said, “Goodbye, Bruce. _And good luck._”

_Goodbye, Clark_, Bruce thought. He watched Clark’s retreating back until he was cut off by the closing door. Suddenly, there were hot coals caught in Bruce’s throat. It felt increasingly hard to breathe. And his chest _ached_.

Then the teleporter activated, and he was gone.


End file.
